My Summersault
by Notorious George Weasley
Summary: (rating for later chapters)AU Nagi's diary of a summer Schwarz goes to Italy, and Nagi soon finds out that not only is Weiss there, but Ken may not be as single-minded about him as he thought. KISS CHAPTER UP!
1. Someone unimportant

That summer was so screwed up as I remember it. I hated everything about going outside let alone being seen with my teammates. But I learned a few good lessons that summer, along with learning why I was never allowed in Schuldich's or Crawford's room when the door was closed… that, I dare say, shocked me out of ever wanting to continue going through puberty. Anyways, I was given this diary by a friend of mine… well, maybe he's more than that… But for one second, I'd like you to think of anyone you've been in love with. Well, this is all dedicated to the guy that saved my summer and who showed me how to smile.

It was 95 degrees in downtown Tokyo that day in June. It was one of those days when you lay down in front of a fan, you can't breathe and you just wish someone would dump ice on you. It was hottest on the top levels so the others mainly hung out in the basement. My room was under the basement, thank God, so it was always a bit cooler. The only problem with that is that I get huge spiders in the winter. Humongous, huge, giant, gorilla-sized, cat eating spiders that have toe nails and have leg hairs like Farfarello. When I was little I used to have Schuldich come in and kill them for me. Brad called me a wimp and Farf made me eat one once… Maybe that's why I hate them so much. 

The electric fan was going at full blast as I sipped lemonade from my thermos as I read a comic book. I loved English comics; some of them really crack me up. My favorite would have to be X-men. But something nagged me in the back of my mind. Rather, some**one** nagged me at the back of my mind.

"Nagi, it's your turn to make dinner." He said, practically whispering it right in my ear.

"Schu, I did last night. It's Farfarello's turn." I retorted, turning the page without lifting a finger. It was too hot to move, so I didn't. Poor humans without their telekinesis, they must be squirming like worms caught on the sidewalk, burning from the sunlight. That thought amused me greatly.

"You know he'll make stew again."

"It's ok when the air conditioning is on."

"But you're a better cook."

I was beginning to get annoyed. That German could sweet talk an ass, and, after being around him for a very long time, you begin to know when he's B.S.-ing you. "You haven't made it for months." I snapped, practically growling.

"Fine. I'm making apple strudel, happy?" he dramatically stated, I could just imagine him with the back of his hand on his forehead, his green eyes closed, and the insane German swooning with each syllable in the comment.

"Extremely." I said, my voice being more dronish than usual.

"Bradley is planning something."

"What?"

"I don't know, he's blocked me out of his thoughts again." He sounded slightly suspicious, slightly depressed. No one in the least bit could even imagine what Crawford was really planning. Bradley could be tricky, very tricky, when and if he wanted to. Sometimes his cunning was the ridicule of Farf and I, mostly because he had been a boy scout (whatever that was) and was always prepared.

I know this is getting side tracked but the only thing I could think of anymore was not fighting with Weiss. We hadn't beaten the crap out of them in a while and it felt good. I never liked fighting them anyways. I was even contemplating going to the flower store to buy some edelweiss for Schuldich cause his birthday was coming up. I don't know why my thoughts always went back to that one assassin. The one with dark hair, I think his code name is Siberian, but I lack the knowledge of his real name. I wish I knew it.

My stereo was blasting the latest from Plastic Tree, though my favorite song was still Planetarium. Last year, for my birthday, Farfarello gave me a collection of literally thousands of CD's. A lot of them were American, then a few rare Japanese ones, some German hard-core, and a couple Irish rock bands. There were these 3 groups I really liked; Linkin Park, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Rammstein.

 One of Linkin Park's CDs, [Hybrid Theory], was full of songs these really good songs about hearing voices, feeling hopeless and out of control, and lashing out at humanity. I often wondered about how people so far away and stuck in the middle of such a stupid and idiot-filled place could rise up and write songs that spoke so much truth. How did they know what I felt like? It bothered me how mindless drones in their country must flock to their concerts and still not really know what the lyrics mean.

Rammstein, however, was all rage against the government, or so Schuldich tells me. But whatever the lyrics mean, I'm hooked on their CD Mutter. There's this one track when they talk about I think it's a fairy tale. It's cool, but I believe that my favorite song would have to be Scar Tissue by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Some people call me gothic because I always wear black clothes and listen to depressing and what some would call "disturbing" music. I laugh when they do. I may be different, but they're all the same and they're afraid of different things. So they're afraid of me. That helps my ego: not. In truth I want to fall in love with someone who doesn't consider me a freak or a psycho or and experiment gone wrong, some one who is also different but the same as me. Sort of…

Looking back I never think I've ever truly been in love before. Tot wasn't love; she was a diversion from my loneliness. And now I'm asking myself, is it wrong to have a bond with someone you don't know out of fighting, or to be in love with someone you only see to when you're ordered to harm him? Like I said before, there's a reason I don't want to fight with Weiss anymore.

There was a knock at my door. I always kept it locked.

"Who is it?" I asked, half expecting it to be a prank by SNL where the clever land shark would trick me into opening the door and then eat me. Farfarello thought it was hilarious and constantly tried to talk like it.

"Candy gram." Said a very forced and raspy voice. Farfarello. It was like he also read my mind sometimes. He calls it "brotherly intuition", I tell him we're not exactly brothers, and then the insane Irishman makes it clear to me that I'm his little brother by putting me in a headlock.

"Come in you idiot." I answered, lifting the latch with a mental hand and still sitting on my bed. The insane Irish man walked in. He had a wife-beater on with baggy jeans cut-offs, and entered just as Illuminati came my stereo. Once again, a smile was on his face and his yellow eye was fixed on me in an unsettling manner. In the scarred and bandaged hands of the white haired maniac was a Crown Drugs bag.

"I got you a pack of cigarettes, like you asked," he said, tossing them at me. They stayed suspended in mid air for a second then found their place next to my Mana lighter on the bed stand. "I also got you another roll of film for that camera of yours." This he threw at my desk and it landed lightly on top of the black Polaroid lying on the desk.

"How much did it cost?" I asked, fishing my wallet from my pocket.

"Nothing, you needn't be worrying about it."

"Do my ears deceive me? Did you do something for me for free?" I gasped sarcastically, punching him in the shoulder.

"Aw, shut up brat." He replied, ruffling my hair. Sometimes he could be cool like this. Other times, though, he was just purely psychotic. "Listen, why did you start smoking?" Was he concerned? Could he be concerned?

"It gives me a quick fix." I said with all honesty. He looked at me for a second, then smiled once again, and left my room, closing the door behind him. Farfarello **was** like a big brother to me, though I'd never admit it. So, naturally, when he started smoking 3 years ago, I did too… I bet I was the only 12 year old out there smoking, maybe still the only one out there who felt like he needed to smoke. So I watched him shake his head and leave with his plastic bag. When I had locked the door again I looked around, listening for someone out side, listening in on what I might say next. But I couldn't hear a sound.

My life is so messed up. Really messed up. I'm a teenager with telekinetic powers in an assassin-for-hire group along with a clairvoyant workaholic and a mind-reading German who make noise together till 2 am, making my stomach churn, and a homicidal Irish-man with one eye and immunity to pain that falls asleep in front of the TV with about 4 gallons of porter in his stomach. To top it all off, I'm a smoker and addicted to drugs, enjoy writing dark poetry, listening to loud evil music in different languages, and I have a huge crush on the teammate of a rival assassin group. Think you still have big problems? Try being a teenager in this little "family".

I recently became addicted to a lot of drugs, mostly pain prescriptions. I found them in Schuldich's locked cabinet; he used to be addicted too. Smoking has become my hobby and if you ever wonder why I never show my wrists, look in my waste paper basket. They're usually some bloody bandages in there. I know I'm messed up, but who really cares? No one. Depression and heartaches can be forgotten with a few pills, and scars can be covered by makeup, just like how a person can be concealed by a mask.

I took one last look suspiciously around my room. Then my hand found its way under the black silk pillow I was resting against. A crumpled picture was soon clasped between my fingers as I pulled out the only image I had of the assassin. 

It was just some shot I took of him when he was in the flower shop, sleeping on the white table, surrounded by some little purple flowers. He was handsome and I vaguely remember him snoring. But it's useless to get hooked on someone you can never get close to, isn't it?

I can't help how I feel for Siberian though, it's not like I can dismiss love, let alone easily and without finding out if he considers at least **something** for me.

"That's it," I said, putting the picture back. "I'm going to the flower shop tomorrow." And after that statement was when my summer went from bad to worse.


	2. Unjust decision

A/N: Ya, double updates… 

Schuldich yelled for the third time for dinner and I slowly entered the kitchen. Farfarello was eating a raw potato, like always, the red-haired German had his hair tied back in a loose bun and had a pink apron tied around his waist, like always. Then, the "head" of our household, the most father-like person I've ever had, Bradley Crawford, our "fearless leader", was hiding behind a newspaper, like always.

I sat down with a solid thud.

"Well, I'm glad to see that **SOMEBODY** has finally decided to grace us with his presence!" Schu loudly and sarcastically stated, shoveling a piece of chilled apple strudel onto my plate. It may sound weird but I swear that chilled apple strudel is one of, if not, the best ways to chill down on a really, really hot day. When everyone was seated and eating, Crawford cleared his throat and set down his newspaper.

"Well, Schwarz. It's summer vacation as of today for us," He said. Farfarello smiled evilly. "And I think we all deserve a huge rest from work." Now I was beginning to get suspicious. What did he mean by "rest"? And why was Mr. Workaholic talking about getting a rest from the one thing he loved almost as much as Schuldich? "So, we're going on a long trip, throughout Italy."

I spit out my milk. "We're doing **what**?" I nearly yelled. Shock must've been written over all of my face because the dark blue haired leader smiled.

"We're going to Italy this summer, and we leave tomorrow…" His left eyebrow was raised and he stared at me with a very foggy look.

I did my best impression of a smile and sat down, raving about what a treat this was. In reality, I was dying on the inside. I could think simply that my only chance to meet and talk with the rival assassin out of fighting was gone. I would never know what he would be like, what his feelings toward me would prove to be.

Dinner ended as Crawford continued telling us that our plane left tomorrow at 5 am. So I went to my room with my huge green duffle bag and as I sat on my bed as clothes began to fly into it. Meanwhile, my mind was deep into other matters. My hands grabbed the pillow resting perfectly on the twin bed and brought it to my body as I hugged it as tight as I could. I just wish it could hug back. I know I was always trying to be grown-up, but I still felt like a kid some times. When I used to cry myself to sleep, I wished then more than ever that someone had loved me and comforted me. 

I fished in my pillow stuffing for the translucent orange pill cases and took them out. I had refilled one of them the day before but now it was half empty. I opened it and shoved three white capsules in my mouth, grabbing the glass of water on my bed stand and chugging it all down. Next thing I knew, I was smoking a cancer stick and emptying my stash into my carry-on.

Bradley wasn't the comforting type, Farfarello didn't like crying little punks, and Schuldich… well, Schu did calm me down, no matter what it was about, but he didn't really think of me like family. He'd kill me for saying this but he was like a mom to me, the only kindness I've really had. 

But this time I was sure that I couldn't tell him what was wrong, and what was making me cry, though he could probably find out despite my protest. He was telepathic after all, but I don't think he would pry if I asked him not to. If they found out though, I'd be out of the team, out in the rain and cold to fend for myself in the world of judge-mental humans and bitter people. 

A tear splattered on my pillow. Followed by another and another, all stained black from my now running eyeliner that I layered on daily. Saying I was soft or weak wasn't the truth. In fact I did more by my 12th birthday than most people did in their entire lives. I was just deprived of love, of soft contact, of peaceful words and I had never been very appreciated, even in this team. It had been going on so long that I should've been used to it, but I wasn't, and my heart had been currently aching for a few weeks. I didn't have a clue what was going on with me, but every time I saw things that reminded me of Siberian, of his deep brown eyes and dark chocolate hair, of how he smiled when he was teaching kids soccer, and now thinking about it made something hurt even more. 

It was like having a steak driven into your heart, and everyday it was twisted deeper and deeper because you weren't near him. Then, when you felt like you were going to crack under the pressure, it's momentarily numbed, then driven deeper again. I wanted to tell him… but I really didn't know what I would do if he said he didn't like me at all. So I hadn't told him, for fear of another rejection, which I probably couldn't handle though it was probably evidential. Though it seemed more than inevitable. We were enemies and that's all we'd ever be.

I was packed and stared at my ceiling, wondering what to do with myself. The flower shop closed in 2 hours, I could still make it… just to buy myself a bouquet of red roses and make believe it was from my enemy, the one guy who could love me but probably regarded me like the rest of the world, a freak murderer. Hopelessly in love, that's what I think it was called when you love someone so much that nothing else matters and you'd do anything, pay any price, just to have them. That's what I felt. I was ready to give anything up to fate just for a shot at love.


	3. An Act of Stupidity

HEY! Thankies to all who reviewed, I really didn't think this would fly. Now, because I just love you all soooooooooo much, here's Chapter three. Let's see what Nagi's up to at the flower shop…

Chapter 3: An Act of Stupidity

The wind whipped my face as I rode my blue mountain bike down the streets to the flower shop. I wasn't even a block away when I saw groups and groups of girls; squealing and screeching like startled bats. It was almost sickening and my stomach churned as I neared the floral shop owned by Weiss. I was the only one in black attire and would probably stick out like a sore thumb.

I was able to weave in and out of the girl groups and soon the squeaking of my breaks filled my ears as I stopped outside of the flower shop. Carnations, lilies, roses, poppies, hyacinth, tulips and many more flowers surrounded the small table and window. The red-haired one, who was frowning and seemed to be yelling at girls, was the leader: Abyssinian. The almost mousy one with blonde hair and blue eyes, who looked younger than me, was Bombay. Then the tall, playboy-ish blonde with chin length hair was Balinese. But no Siberian was around.

Bombay turned around and looked right at me, his face still smiling. I knew he would recognize me, despite the very odd makeup I used to mask myself, so I looked away as his face dropped and his blue eyes strained with fear. What was I thinking? He muttered something to Balinese and I jumped back on my bike, riding off the direction I had come, not wanting to wait around for what they planned to do to me.

Sadly, I began my long ride home. A voice in my head murmured _what did you expect? That they would welcome you, an enemy, with open arms?_ I quickly dismissed it and prepared to go home and search for my missing Dir en Grey CD when I decided to take a left instead of keep riding straight.

I wound up riding through a large park, it's dirt trails perfect for biking. The trees gave me slight shelter from the glaring orange sunlight from the horizon. Up ahead was a large grassy soccer field where shouts came from. As I biked on, I noticed small boys playing and chasing a black and white ball. They had matching yellow and green jerseys, cleats, and knee-high sweat socks. They were only about 7 or 8 years old.

Finally, over all the nasally and high-pitched shrieks, I heard a deep and almost velvety voice. He yelled at the tiny children as he smiled and kicked the ball back over to them.

My head only crested his shoulders, though it was hard to tell from being so far away. I dismounted my bike and left it on the ground behind the tree as I watched Siberian from my hiding place. Suddenly, as I gazed at him from behind the cedar, I became self-conscious, as I never recalled being before. My eyeliner was probably all goofed up, my black lipstick blurred. I was dying from heat under my black trench coat, t-shirt and long pants, but I wouldn't be seen showing of my bleached skin. I could not, should not be seen by him.

As I repeated that in me head, I realized how beautiful he was. Sweat glided off of his brow and made his radiant skin glisten in the setting sunlight. Beads of moisture had gathered on his dark brown hair and gave him a halo as he shook it back and laughed. His laugh alone made me weak in the knees, and he being my enemy made my stomach churn and rise. My heart was already in my throat, beating loudly in my ears. My God, he was handsome… beautiful even, but I was wasting my time. Some how I wound up wasting another hour of my time watching him, because the children began leaving and he was left with the balls.

I chewed my lip watching him. Would he see me? I hoped not, I was quite comfortable in my pine sanctuary and if he did, what would I say? "Hey there Siberian, haven't fought you in a while, I would just like to tell you that I'm madly in love with you though I've tried to kill you a few times. Will you take me away and love me forever so that your leaders and mine won't find out?" I doubted that it would go that smoothly, yet as I watched him pick up the soccer balls in the bag and laugh about something unknown to me, I wondered. Was it possible that he loved me too?

I turned away panting. He took my breath away just by seeing him. I slid down the tree trunk to sit on the dirt ground. I _did_ love him, didn't I? Remembering all those restless nights I spent staring up at the ceiling wondering about what these feelings were for my enemy, it felt as though he might also have suffered from that… however unlikely it was. That one thought comforted me. 

But it was silly and juvenile, pathetic and ignorant, he never would and I was being idiotic to think so. If Crawford got mad and hit me for Tot, he'd slit my throat and leave me to wallow in my own blood if he found out about my love for Siberian, He always said, "Schrient was bad, but Weiss is worse and always will be." I never let him know why I didn't talk to him after he made that comment.

My thoughts and dreams were snapped back to reality by the sound of a breaking twig behind me. I jumped to my feet and whirled around to see Siberian in front of me.

I would have screamed but I was too shocked. I staggered backwards as heat and color rushed to my pale cheeks. He only stared at me with an eyebrow raised. Then, as his brown eyes met mine, he recognized me, and my mask that all humanity saw, never looking deeper. With shock plastered onto his wide-eyed face, he said in a very shaky and disbelieving voice, "N-Nagi?"

I didn't stick around to see what he would do to me, but something inside compelled me to do something I would later regret in my room, under my covers, crying. I swept up on my tiptoes and met his lips with my stained-black ones, in a very messy kiss.

He tasted good and made me dizzy, my stomach felt as if it were wrenched out of my body. I broke the kiss as I saw him blush and stare at me as if I were an alien only in the body of his archenemy. With out another word, I jumped on my bike, feeling the tears behind my eyes coming, I didn't want him to see me cry as I sped away towards home, sobbing as I rode my bike down the dark alleys, so resembling my heart. That was perhaps the stupidest thing I have EVER done.


	4. Crossing Borders of My Mind

**Yea, sorry about the lateness! Starting school, you know? Hectic and all… anyways! The chapter!**

**Chapter 4: Crossing Borders of My Mind**

Morning came too early for good health. Crawford was up at three and didn't look at all tired, most likely because he had drunk an entire pitcher of coffee. Schuldich was tired but happy and Farfarello looked like he was nursing a hang over, which meant pain, which meant he was almost gleeful. _There_ was no surprise, in my mind at least. I, however, was just there. I was just tiredly, annoyingly, boringly, suffering, heart-brokenly there. My eyes were still puffy from crying myself to sleep again.

What had I been thinking? Why in the name of all Japan did I kiss him? And now I had to live with it over a 14-day period in a foreign country and struggling with a language I pretended to understand. This summer could not get worse, yet.

In the airport, I waited on a leather bench until Schuldich finally got through security. It was almost foolish. They were complaining about his malicious grin and sly gaze. Crawford was rabid at seeing them pat him down. Back then, I didn't know why he would get so uptight about a few guys checking Schuldich for knives or drugs or something, but now, unfortunately, I do.

Farfarello, on the other hand, had to keep most of his blades in his mouth to hide them from security. I didn't know why he wanted them so badly. He could've just bought new ones in Italy. He nearly cried when they confiscated his half-empty bottle of Guinness. Miraculously, the security guard said that they served alcohol on the flight. I shook my head and prayed that I was sitting by myself, though I knew I wasn't. It always went "Crawford and Schuldich, " then "Farfarello and Nagi." It sucked, but that's the way it went, the way it _always_ went.

Astonishingly, they didn't find my stash, which would have killed Schuldich to find out that I was an addict. Before a long flight too – he would lecture me the whole time in my mind, which is worse than in person. Right before I had sat down after security, I swallowed another three painkillers.

I don't really remember why I became addicted, or how, but I knew it was around my 9th birthday. So, it was six years ago, but somehow it seems only months ago, or I wished it were. After all, "I can quit any time I want".

Fiddling with the black lighter in my hand, I reached into my pants pocket and brought out a half-empty pack of cancer sticks. After removing one and placing it firmly between my two lips I lit it and blew out the smoke I knew would someday choke me until I couldn't breathe anymore and died. Still, I let the gray mist swirl around and around in the air, trying to imagine my cares and worries drifting away with it. Too bad it didn't work.

"Hey kid," Schuldich said kindly as he sat down across from me. I didn't even look at him, I didn't want too. I felt as if I had betrayed him by kissing Siberian, as if I had betrayed my entire team, but I wouldn't tell him, and he couldn't tell, could he? You never know with Schuldich. Still, I felt as though he always knew what was wrong with me. And I don't think it was just telepathy that he could read minds through (maternal instinct probably).

I took another drag and blew out the gray smoke cloud again, swirling it into a pattern with my mind. It looked almost like an ocean. Some pain in my heart returned and I longed to take another few pills.

"Venice, eh?" The German was trying to make conversation with me, for what reasons I did not know. It scared me, so I crumbled and looked at him, expecting him to shove a cream pie in my face.

But he wasn't holding anything. He was looking at me with sad eyes, which was quite an unexpected sight. I blinked and sat back, startled by the kindness in his manner. Deciding to answer him, I stuttered out, "Y-yeah… cool…"

The orange haired man got up and slid into the seat next to me, taking the cigarette out of my mouth and staring at it, pain underlying the melancholy in his gaze. This was very new to me. Never had I seen Schuldich look at anything that way, even when he turned and looked at me like that I was at a loss for words.

He smirked and put the cancer stick back into my mouth, giving me a look of weariness. "When'd you get hooked on those?"

I resented that remark; I had been smoking over 3 years and he hadn't the decency to notice the smell of nicotine and arsenic stuck in my breath next to the minty-freshness of mouthwash. Still, it wasn't as though I did it openly, but it did make me feel very small in the world. "A while ago," was the best answer Schu would be getting out of me.

The German looked over to the coffee shop, where Crawford stood, looking incredibly important and pompous as an ass. Yet Schuldich smiled, and in those gold eyes were memories, which I could not see, but feel. Then it dawned on me; they were in love.

All this time I've lived with them and I didn't even notice that they were lovers. It sucked my breath out as I held my fag loosely in between two fingers. Lately it had been more and more obvious, but I never caught on to the thought. The idea that Schuldich and Crawford were an item kept escaping my grasp like I was chasing a mayfly, but suddenly it had become incredibly apparent. As if an invisible file had been placed into my head and I was only just reading it, I realized it, and saw in the German's eyes just how deep that love was.

"Sch-Schuldich…" I said looking at him as a wad of ashes fell off my cigarette and onto the cheep fabric on the ground. The orange-haired man looked back at me and smiled, as if understanding entirely what I had just found out. "You and Crawford?"

"Yeah… Quite a shock, eh, chibi?" he answered, his smooth voice flowing in and out my ears. I just took another drag on my fag and stared into space, running a hand through my hair. It made sense… that's all I could really say to the uncovered relationship, that it made sense. (Author's Note: chibi means "little" in Japanese. I think this is a cute nickname Schu has for Nagi.)

After Schuldich had moved to sit with Crawford in the coffee café, I sat there thinking that I would have been a lot happier if I hadn't of kissed Siberian. It was more than just stupid, it was idiotic and I was plainly to blame. What the bloody hell did I think a stupid kiss would do? (Besides of course making the Weiss member question his own sexuality and my sanity.) Really, it must've been the heat of the moment… whatever heat the moment was holding…

I was lost in these thoughts until someone called my name: a certain crazy Irishman, who held ice cream in both hands. "Nagi, care for some breakfast?" he asked, grinning like the maniac he was. Not only did the sight of the ice cream make me feel guilty for not eating a GOOD breakfast, but also it made me feel guilty for keeping these secrets locked up inside me, unable to be shared with my team mates. Grimacing, I took the cone from Farfarello and began to lick at the strawberry-flavored frozen goodness, trying to look on the positive side, for once. Needless to say it didn't work.

"So, you know what we're gonna do in Italy?" he asked, licking his own ice cream. I rolled my eyes and closed them, imagining being back in my head. Licking my lips I said, "Travel, duh."

"Well, yea, that's a given, but what're we really going to do? What do you want to do?"

"Sleep." I said in all honesty. I think he took it as an insult, but I was serious. I was sure that there was nothing to do in another stupid country, so I just planned to do as little as possible in my all-black wardrobe and eyeliner-penciled dreams. Dammit, I should've stuck to that plan.

On the long flight, I was stuck with an aisle seat as Farfarello snored next to me in our very large and comfy first-class seats. We switched planes a number of times, but our baggage was checked the entire trip through, so we never had to collect it. All I did was sleep and watch movies, and steal those packets of peanuts with my telepathy from the snack carts.

I hate flying: it makes me feel helpless. Think about it. You're up about 20,000 feet in the air and going faster than any living thing could go, so if something goes wrong, you're at the mercy of a 5-ton machine and the laws of physics. That's enough to scare anyone out of flying. But during these flights, I sat in back of Schuldich and Crawford, and that was pretty entertaining.

On the last few hours of the day, when the sun was just rising in Rome, where we were landing, I looked in front of me and saw Schuldich, obviously asleep, leaning his head on Crawdad's shoulder. Crawford looked at him and kissed his nose lightly. Something about that was inexplicably cute, and made me wonder, that if two guys like that could wind up together… that maybe, just maybe, I could be happy with Siberian…

So we landed and got a taxi to take all of our bags and us (which were small and few) to our hotel. It was the Hotel Guiliette near the Trevi Fountain. We checked in and were given keys and let me tell you, I doubt that there was a more thankful time in my life up till then we I finally jumped onto my own bed in my own room of a small Italian hotel just as some Vespas whizzed by below my window.

I can't remember how long I slept, because there was no working clock in my room, but I woke up around twilight. Being reenergized and almost happy, I then grabbed some of my stash and chugged it down. Outside, people were singing and yelling at some restaurant down the way. I wondered where the other Schwarz members were.

Down the hall I wandered, knocking on Schu and Crawdad's door. Crawford opened the door slightly, still in a starched suite and necktie, looking at me as if I were about to burst into flames because of my own damn fault. I asked him what there was to do and he said promptly for me to be back around midnight, gave me about 250 Euros and sent me on my way. Of course, then I didn't ask why he wanted me to leave so badly, but, again, I do now.

Going back into my room, I took a quick shower, put on some more black clothing, despite the heat outside, and fixed my eyes with black eyeliner. As I looked in the mirror, I thought that I looked pretty cute, which was a big deal for my low self-esteem and me. But really, I was. I had nicely shaped blue eyes, looked innocent and somewhat tragic, and my hair was soft. I grabbed my money and Crawford's gift of Euros and hopped out into the cobblestone street.

I had no idea where I was going, but if worst came to worst, I could always grab a taxi. The streets were fill with little groups of people, Italian and tourist, young and old, men and women, all there just to enjoy the night. I passed many restaurants with waiters beckoning me in, but I didn't oblige until a waiter of about 20 years offered me a rose, calling out, "Bella, come, eat with me in this fine night." How can anyone say no to that? And I _was_ getting extremely hungry.

I sat and ate, watching people pass and wondering what had happened to Farfarello. He was probably in a bar somewhere complaining about the lack of Guinness. But really, who comes to Italy to drink Guinness? No one. That's why I ordered a bottle of champagne.

Dinner came and went, consisting of past, red sauce, alcohol, and an after dinner mint. I paid with a rather large tip for the "scenery", and was off on my way again. Suddenly, I passed a cute little ice-cream type place and walked in. All around were tiny bowls and cones, and little sherbets and creams, which I guessed was the famous gelato.

"Young sir, what are you having?" the old man behind the counter asked. He was almost ancient, and looked too tired for good health, but his eyes still smiled. Quietly I got a cone of lemon and walked out again.

No one knew me here. They didn't know what a horrible mess I was, my past, or my present. They didn't know about my assassinations, my freak powers, my drug addictions, my smoking habits, or my infatuation with another rival guy. It was almost refreshing… but I couldn't help wishing someone _did_ know me. I felt alone in the company of my own teammates.

I turned my gaze upwards, above the streetlights of Rome, were the same stars I see in Japan… but they were different. With all my heart, I wished for someone who would understand me and where I was coming from… Someone to love me the way I loved Siberian. If only I knew even his real name.

Now, thousands of miles away, the same feeling, only duller, came back to my lips and a tear slid down my cheek as I began the long walk back to my hotel room.


	5. Torture, Thy Name is Italy

Chapter 5: Torture, Thy Name is Italy

We spent the next few days wandering around. Schuldich dragged us throughout every single museum Rome had, including all the monuments. Do you **know** how many historical sites are in Rome? THOUSANDS. The entire time Farfarello chugging some kind of beer or another in a wife beater showing all his scars, and he kept falling down the stairs. It was almost annoying, but in this group you have to get used to it. Besides, it was kind of entertaining to see Crawford answer his cell phone in the Vatican museum. If looks could kill, he would've been dead and buried by the time we got out of there. And then Schuldich started yelling at him about it, until Crawford bought him some new clothes.

At the Capitaline Museum, there's this huge room full of statues and stuff made out of marble. There was this one really nice statue of this girl with some helmet on her head. I stared at her, wondering whether she had existed or not. That's a funny thing. What if the Romans or Greeks _had_ been right about their religion, and there were a bunch of Gods and Goddesses sitting around watching us and playing tricks on us… That would explain a lot. I could just picture a Goddess bragging about the mess she wrapped my heart up in.

Anyways, Rome was ok, except some pigeon pooped on my shoulder at the Pantheon. Schuldich and Farfarello laughed so hard but Crawford gave me this glare like I was as bad as the crap on my shirt. On the bright side, I made the bird fly really hard into the side and fall down.

Those few days I was popping more drugs than I remember ever doing before. Schuldich almost saw one time, and I had to plea not guilty by way of having a headache and taking meds for it. It scares me sometimes what he would do if he found out. I couldn't live without these drugs… the only friends I really have… Though, I haven't slit my wrists for a while… or smoked a cig…

Our next stop was Venice.

The train station was packed like a sardine can. We each had two small bags, and Crawford had bought out the entire cabin. Schuldich put his mind to it and people just parted as we went over to our train. Some guy gave me this weird look and muttered, "Freak" as I walked by, and he unfortunately fell into a window display from stumbling and breaking his ankle. Crawford was a bit proud of me, but Schuldich pulled me aside before I got onto the train.

"Why'd you do that, chibi?" he asked sternly, looking into my eyes. I pushed him back a bit and mumbled, "He deserved it."

The German fixed me with his liquid gold eyes, staring right through me. I was depressed and angry with myself, and my self-esteem couldn't get lower, so my mercy giving was way down… I wanted something, anything to distract me from all these problems… I hated being in Schwarz, but it was the only home I had ever had… where I wasn't a freak. But even they didn't feel my pain.

Schuldich sighed and ruffled my hair and stepped on. I looked around the last bit of room for a while and sighed. What I was looking for was nowhere to be found… it could be back in Japan, but I'd never find out now. What was there for a killer? Nothing, I was sure… Not what I was searching for.

I got on the train and sat down just as we pulled out. I was in a corner window seat by myself and Schuldich sat with Crawford, the two of them speaking to each other without words. Farfarello was hanging from the bag holders with his feet. I just leaned back and watched the scenery pass by… and I dozed off.

The next time I woke up, we had passed Padua, and suddenly, outside my window of lush green open fields were acres and acres of sunflowers passing by my window. It was beautiful, just these bright yellow and gold petals coming off of these humungous flowers, contrasting with the bright blue of the sky in the middle of an ancient world. They were as bright as the real sun, and it almost made me smile. I picked one and held onto it as hard as I could to my window to take a closer look as the wind whipped its petals. I smiled and put my hand to the window to try and touch the radiance, which didn't work, so I let it go and watched it drift back the rest of the train.

My head turned to look around the rest of the compartment, more specifically at my teammates. Schuldich was asleep and rather spread out in his chair and Farfarello was sliding around on the ground, either asleep or passed out from hitting his head after falling from his hanging place. Señor Fearless-Leader was typing away at his computer, a pen stuck between his lips in concentration.

Once again, I felt alone and sorely wished that I hadn't kissed Siberian. Weiss would probably attack us for that, which would be worse than just living with the guilt of KNOWING that I kissed a person I was supposed to be bound to hate. Why did I love him? So, I began to count…

I loved him because he was courageous, even though he could never beat us; he always tried and gave it his all, even if he were to die during the mission. I loved him because he was kind and could live a normal life and even have a job and help little kids that would've otherwise become drug addicts and assassins like me… and he gave them hope… Maybe I thought that by him living a normal life aside from being an assassin, he was giving me hope… that maybe I could know that it's alright for other people… thought I don't know why I cared about other people, they never cared about me.

The landscape quickly turned to water and we came to our stop. As I stepped from the train, suspending my bag with my mind lightly over my shoulder so that it looked like I was carrying it, the smell of hot humid sea-air, basil leaves, and ancient decay met my nose. It was like the smell in an Egyptian-tomb exhibit in a museum – old, mysterious, and with an underlying nature you can almost understand with one whiff.

Crawford led us onto a bus-boat-type thing and, naturally, I used my "gift" to get us a clear space on board, gaining a bundle of odd looks from the others. Then, as we were making it to our stop, I saw them.

Why here? How could they possibly be here of all places? Was it some type of sign or a curse or a test? Whatever it was, it didn't obscure the fact that where Schwarz was supposed to get off, Weiss was waiting to get on.

All four were there; the cruel and judgmental Abyssinian, the sly womanizing Balinese, the happy and perky Bombay with his camera, …and him. I stared at him for a while before I backed up onto Schuldich's foot. Instead of yelling at me, he looked at me, and then looked where I was looking. Suddenly, Crawford and Farfarello's heads also snapped over to see our rivals standing on the docks. We all looked to Crawford for instructions, for as dumb as it seems, he _was_ our leader, and we couldn't really face this without orders.

My heart was racing. What if he had told his teammates and they knew how to get to my team? I finally realized how horrible the act of my kissing him really was, and why Crawford had hit me when I had just kissed Toto. I had shown my weakness, Schwarz's weakness, and that could be bent to their advantage. They had a hold on me. I decided in my mind I had to hate him at all costs… or at least act like I did. Siberian couldn't read minds anyways, but he just looked so perfect.

Finally Bradley just looked straight ahead. We would let them see us, but do nothing else. Schuldich put on his best malicious grin and sauntered out onto the solid ground of a Venice street near the Rialto Bridge, in clear view of Weiss. Abyssinian glared at each of us as we walked by, as did the other two (Bombay's face rather in pure shock than in hatred), but Siberian only looked at me. He was staring at me with large brown eyes that were deliciously surprised, and filled with another emotion I couldn't describe, because I just rushed by him, not wanting to blush or do anything else stupid.

As soon as I reached my room in the small hotel, I popped five pills in my mouth and went through two cigarettes. What was I going to do? Venice was big, but not nearly big enough for the two assassin groups to stay without running into each other again. All I wanted now was to slip through a crack in a building and disappear from view, mainly Siberian's and Schuldich's, because they can almost look right through me.

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!!!


	6. Venice, City of Love

Sorry about the delay, my faithful reviewers! But here is the chapter that will MAKE you forgive me! And, don't worry; this fic won't be done for a while.

Chapter 6: Venice, the City of Love

The next day I was gone before Schuldich or any other Schwarz member could talk to me. I was walking the streets, smoking, checking my eyeliner while my reflection showed in the water, and looking at Carnival masks. The masks were so interesting and intricate. They seemed just the thing I needed and wanted, so I bought a few porcelain ones, but I couldn't find the right one for my face.

The entire morning I looked for the right mask. Some were too bold, others too revealing, and still others completely wrong for a person like me. Now there's a funny thought, "a _person_ like me." I was no person. I was an animal. I am a murderer, I thought, and didn't deserve the title of "person". But who did?

Anyways, around noon I stepped into the fifth costume shop I had come across that day and looked at the masks. I picked a nice one out; it was silver with black glitter swirls and shiny ribbon. I slipped it on and it perfectly fit my face, so I looked in the mirror. It was perfect, hiding everything except my eyes… what betrayed me in those eyes? Everything I felt must be apparent in them. Sad but true: I couldn't hide my entire self. Some how, people would always know something more than I wanted them too, all because of my eyes.

Other people, _normal _people, could hide every aspect about them without a mask at all. But here I was, knowing that I was inferior to the breed I hated with such a passion and being unable to hide it. Maybe my father had been right, that the only thing I was good at was breaking things apart, despite the fact that it was he that usually broke me. Even as I stood there, looking into my eyes in the mirror, I wished that I were my reflection, in some parallel world, and far away from my so-called life here.

There was a man behind me, also wearing a mask, his with a base red and green outlines. I looked at him and wondered if he felt the same way, wanting to escape from himself and everyone who knew him into a world of someone else's making… to be with someone who understood him, but didn't know too much… with someone who would love him no matter what. Then, I looked at his eyes. A sweet chocolate brown with more experience than mine, but a kind of human nature… and I froze, my heart rate quickening as my stomach's bottom dropped. It was Siberian.

Already, I could see him discovering who I was as he took off the mask and looked at me, confirming my assumption of his identity. Quickly, I ripped off the mask, throwing it down to the ground to the shouts of the storekeeper, and ran out of the store, feeling over come with emotion and nervousness, knowing that he was pursuing me.

Have you ever had one of those moments when you were running away from something you wanted to run too? Because that's just what was happening to me. Yet, as I ran past locals and tourists, down alleys and over bridges, I didn't want to see him again, for fear of facing the consequences of letting my real mask slip in front of my enemy. Then, I had to ask myself what made him my enemy when we were both killers, and probably had the same haunting fears in the middle of the night.

I was about to turn a blind corner when I felt something grip my wrist so hard I jerked back, and was forced to the wall before I could fall, my neck snapping back so hard that my head hit the alley wall with agonizing force. My eyes, I didn't open at first, because I was too afraid at what they would see, but then I heard Siberian's voice…

"Nagi, I'm not going to kill you," he said lowly, for fear that he was being listened to. The tone of his voice was strange to me, because I had never heard such emotion in it. I opened my black-outlined eyes and looked up and him, ashamed at how much I blushed. What had Schuldich taught me since I had entered Schwarz? 'Emotions will betray you if you betray them.'

His eyes were gazing in mine, but now past the mask that most people saw, but he still couldn't tell what really lied beneath it. I wanted to bite my black lip, but was too afraid too. Uneasiness and guilt clutched my stomach, preventing the knot of my insides to ever come undone around him, though I was sure that _I _would… come undone I mean. That brought a thought to mind that made me blush rather furiously as I looked at the fine-looking Weiss member. My shaking arms and legs leaned heavily on the ancient stonewalls in the alley, too weak to move while he held me there, his powerful hands on my shoulders.

Siberian was handsome beyond any recollection I had previously had of him. His dark hair was swept across his forehead and his lips were gently parted. Though he wasn't winded at all, his muscular shoulders were moving up and down with the rhythm of his breathing. Oh, I wanted to be that air! Something that could pass so freely over his lips and into his mouth.

Then there was me, a little punk, shorter than him, thin, and incredibly feminine in build. A weakling lost without one supernatural power. I was his enemy, decked out in black clothes and even slight platform shoes that still didn't do anything to help my height. I was trying so hard to hide from everything and everyone, but I was there, wishing so badly that he wouldn't let me; that he would realize that he was the last thing that held hope.

Quietly, but rather harshly, he asked, "Would you mind explaining why you're running from me?"

I held my breath. I knew that Schuldich would've killed me for talking, but I couldn't help how much I wanted to talk with him. "You are Weiss."

His eyes twitched, as if I had hit him internally, but I didn't understand how something so obvious could possibly bother him. Maybe he was disappointed that it seemed to be the first reason to pop into my mind. Coldly, he muttered, "That didn't stop you last time."

Despite my urge to blush, I swallowed the need, and retorted, "I ran last time too, didn't I?" Oh I could remember hi lips so faintly and so longingly; if he were mad at me for that, I would've understood, but I knew that wasn't why he was angry, or even if he was, and it was at that moment I wished for Schuldich's power to read minds, because, try as I did, I could not read his eyes.

His head was somehow closer to me, either from his doing or my own, even now I don't know which urged it more, but his eyes never strayed from mine, nor did his hands from my small shoulders. "Why did you kiss me then?"

I held my breath and looked at his lips. I knew exactly why I had kissed him, for I had cried about it for hours afterwards; I just could not put it into words at this moment, and felt as though I needed some more pills to help it come back to me. Why… Why did they look so inviting when he said it? And why had he stooped down so close to my head? I looked back in his eyes and saw something in there I wanted to touch, but still don't know how to define. How did he expect me to answer… then again, maybe it was rhetorical, because the next minute, his lips were on mine.

I closed my eyes and gently let my lips move over his as his moved over mine in a kind of ritual motion. Heat melted our pairs of lips together for that kiss, and on those lips, I could feel his heart and almost taste his breath. For once, I was surrounded by his scent, the scent of flowers and sweet sweat and department store-bought shampoo. I could feel him leaning me against the wall as his hands strayed down to my ribs. My hands moved timidly up to the back of his neck, feeling the tips of his silky brown hair. The very best part about that kiss, as I can remember, is that I didn't wake up in the middle of it.

Siberian pulled back after a while and I opened my eyes to see why. His cheeks were tanner, not red or pink, but the way he was looking at me made me want to melt into him and the wall. My cheeks though, I'm sure, were a very dark pink color, and I kept my hands where they were on his neck. I didn't want to let go of him for fear that I would loose him forever… that, and he felt really good.

On his lips was the dull shade of my lipstick, which almost made me laugh if I could have, but I was too happy and confused to laugh. All I really knew is that I wanted more of what he had just given me. He had made me realize just how much experience I was lacking and how much he had to give me in some of the ways I had dreamt about late at night…but I was a far way from that, though not in thought.

Stumbling over my lips in the least bit as I drew in a breath, I sighed out, "Siberian-"

Before I could so much as finish his name, he was kissing me again, a bit more passionately than before as his hands strayed down to the small of my back. My eyes felt like they were going to roll into the back of my head from such ecstasy as I was experiencing. This was the one thing I had wanted my entire life that no one except my enemy could give me, which was pressed into that moment and against my lips, though I wasn't so sure he was my enemy anymore.

His lips were forceful in a very tender way, massaging mine into sweet submission. I pulled gently on his neck so that I could get closer to him, and one of my hands twisted around a small lock of his hair. I thought I was going to suffocate from his nose gently nuzzling mine as our mouths moved against each other, but he once again broke the kiss just in time, a small string of spit linking from our lips as we separated.

I blushed a dark crimson as I licked my lips and gasped for air. What was he doing? Why did he kiss me _twice_? Wasn't I supposed to be the one obsessed with him, and he was supposed to be the hardened part of team Weiss ready to kill should I lay another hand on him?

Siberian too was breathing hard, his air blowing against my slightly parted lips. Only, his eyes were smiling at me and he seemed incredibly at ease kissing a complete enemy. Quietly, and with a small smile, he said, "My name is Ken. Ken Hikada."

Almost obeying his thoughts, I gently breathed out, "Ken…" and leaned my head back against the hard wall in the Venice sunlight. So, I thought to myself; that was the name I could scream in my dreams at night. We were all alone in that alley, only a few locals passing by the side ways and all windows on that tiny street were closed and boarded up. Though we were in the open, we had our own private place, except it wouldn't last forever… but we both knew that.

The Weiss member was about to kiss me again when I asked him if this was such a good idea. He gave me a slight look of astonishment. I didn't mean to interrupt that perfect moment, but I did. So, we started talking.

I found out a lot about him that afternoon. Ken (his name gives me shivers to this day) had been a soccer player when he was kicked out of the league for accused drug use and was picked up by Persia to become an assassin for Weiss. He was 19 years old, coached peewee soccer for fun, and worked out a lot so that he could stay fit. I'm sure he said a lot more, but I didn't hear that much because I was just content being less than five feet away from him.

Maybe he learned a lot about me too, but he only just scratched the surface. I told him about my abusive father and being picked up off the streets by Estet and after a few years training being placed into Schwarz. It was amazing I didn't reach for my pills or cigs once around him, though it may have been a bit lucky for me. I doubt some perfectly healthy guy would've wanted to be with a drug-addicted smoker.

Midday turned to early evening as we sat in that alley, talking. Finally, a Gondolier passed yelling out that it was six o'clock, causing Ken's face to strain with worry. Apparently, Bombay was supposed to meet him in San Marco's square at four, but as soon as he was about to leave, he looked at me in the strangest way, and walked back over, taking my left hand in his two.

My cheeks reddened as I looked into his eyes again, wondering what he was doing. "Nagi," he said, sending chills of craving up my spine. "Do you want to escape tomorrow?"

I nearly yelled with excitement. "Yes," I managed to choke out without sounding too eager. He smiled kindly and kissed my cheek, my black lipstick still lingering on his lips. "Then meet me at stop 5 to go to Verano at ten tomorrow morning, and we won't come back until we're missed," he replied, kissing me one last time on the lips. Oh it was going to be a long time till I saw him next, an unfair amount of time.

I nodded and stood up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek as well. Quietly and slowly, we bid each other good-bye. As soon as he was gone, I ran as fast as I could to my room in the hotel off the Canal. So much energy and electricity was pulsing through my veins that I was almost flying, the only thing keeping me to the ground having been the fact that Siberian was on the ground too.

I don't remember even touching the stairs as I sped up to the Schwarz floor. I went straight to Schuldich's room and opened the door… and closed it again! The images that had been burned into my mind from that moment will sadly stay with me forever, which I really did not want to see in the first place. Little did I even imagine that Schuldich could bend that way, or that Crawford could make him moan so much. Ugh, that was quite a sight, and one that I will NEVER record. All that needs to be known is that it had to do with sex (obviously), handcuffs, and whipped cream. No wonder I can't eat ice cream sundaes anymore…

So, with that stuck in my mind, I retreated into my bedroom, locking the door and falling back onto my bed, smiling as broadly as possible. This _must_ be love. I felt my heart being pulled in every which way but the world was standing still, and my lips were tingling with anticipation and memory. Siberian was so good at everything that I needed! I could not get his face out of me mind. So I lay there for a while that night, giggling into my pillow as I thought about how we had kissed the entire afternoon between conversations. Oh, I could've stayed with him forever.


	7. Turning Saints into the Sea

Chapter 7: Turning Saints into the Sea

I suppose I dozed off because the next time I woke up was about nine o'clock in the morning. The only thing bothering me was that I was in my pajamas and my make up was gone. Either Schuldich had come in and put me to bed, or I had done it with my mind while I was asleep, which wouldn't have been the first time. The first thing I thought of when I woke up was the Weiss member meeting me that day at stop 5… and I tingled all over. I would get ready as fast as I possibly could. So I took off my clothes and walked into the shower, running the hot water before getting in.

In the middle of shampooing my hair, Schuldich walked in, smiling broadly. "Where were you yesterday, Chibi?" he asked over the splash of the shower. I looked at him from behind the shower curtain and cautiously called back, "Exploring."

Really, I wanted to know whether or not he was reading my mind, becoming more paranoid about that matter as the silence between us began to settle in. If he found out, he would tell Crawford, and Crawdad could be as bad as my dad at times, especially when Weiss was involved. Trying as hard as I could to keep my mind off of Siberian and our date (that word makes me feel awkward because dating is a very light way of putting things), I rubbed the shampoo suds out of my brown hair, smoothing conditioner in to make my hair extra soft.

Finally, Schuldich said, "Well, that sounds fun! I'm sorry you had to see…Bradley and I… when we were-"

"STOP!" I yelled louder than I had meant to. Never again did I want to hear a single word about what had happened the night before. EVER. To my surprise, Schuldich started laughing and chuckled out, "Alright Chibi, I guess it was pretty bad. Doing anything today?"

My tongue swelled as I heard his question, and I quickly stopped my washing, the shower pelting the back of my neck and the water flowing down my body. Very slowly and cautiously I muttered, "I'm just going out to the island where they make the glass. That's all."

Schuldich giggled and sighed, "That sounds good. Farfarello is going to walk around a bit today to look for a good restaurant for dinner. Bradley and I are walking about St. Mark's Square. We'll meet at the hotel around seven and leave at eight to find the restaurant. It's going to be a late night, so don't make yourself sick with cigarettes. Alright?"

Happily, I agreed and he left me to dry myself. I had never worried about my appearance so much before than that morning in front of the mirror. I was too skinny, my skin was too fair, my hair was too stringy, and my butt was too flat. Slowly and painstakingly, I figured out how to look my best with mascara, eye shadow, lipstick, eyeliner, white powder, and hairspray. With all this makeup, the outfit I chose had to be perfect. That given, I finally decided on some black (and rather tight from the knee up) pants, a black-silk Chinese sleeves shirt under an unbuttoned black ¾ length sleeve shirt, and my usual jacket and boots. My attire ordered and my fags, pills and wallet stuck in my pockets, I looked at the clock and rushed out of the hotel, grabbing a single piece of toast for breakfast and dashing to Stop 5.

Before I got to the stop, I swallowed three pills to calm my nerves and quickly puffed through a cigarette, chewing and swallowing a piece of mint gum to cover the nicotine smell, which I'm sure a soccer player wouldn't appreciate. By the time I reached the stop, Siberian was already there and looking as if it were no big deal that he was meeting me. I had seen enough romance movies to know that he was playing it cool, but it still took my breath away how the wind caught his hair and sent it flitting this way and that as I very shyly walked over to him. I would have followed him anywhere he led me at that point, as long as he was there with me.

Then, as he looked up to see me about three meters away, walking to him, my eyes touched his and my knees almost buckled under my heart. I nearly stumbled the rest of the way as he straightened up and smiled, saying, "Good morning, Nagi."

I gulped and mumbled, "Good morning, Siberian." If that salutation was the same under different circumstances; oh, my imagination ran away so quickly. That was one of the five most nervous moments in my life, all of which have been around him. Under that Venetian summer sky, I knew nothing about what I was doing. Lucky for me, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Laughing, the handsome Weiss member said, "Go ahead and call me Ken, Siberian sounds evil." I smiled meekly and nodded, not uttering another word until I had to for fear of saying the wrong thing.

Together we got on the bus-boat and sat on one of the back-most seats. There were many other tourists on the boat, most of which were those stereotypical fat American tourists with cameras around their necks, unsightly shorts, and Hawaiian shirts, talking too loudly for comfort. Sad, but true, even though they weren't as bad as German tourists, and some American's weren't that bad, just most of them were.

As the boat bobbed up and down on the sea, passing other ships on the water, I felt so funny sitting there next to Ken Hikada. He was completely untouched by makeup or touch-ups, his body was what he constantly looked after, and he was wearing a nice thin sweater and long shorts with perfectly tied tennis shoes. Siberian was the complete opposite of what I was… and it puzzled me what he could see in me that was attractive. Whatever it was he saw, it made him circle his arm around my waist to place his hand on my hip, which made me feel secure on the choppy water, so it couldn't be that bad.

We got off on the right bank of the island, all paved and covered with glass shops and delis and towering buildings. A few large bridges connected the two banks, and past the main avenue of shops and stores were the tall houses of the locals. The famous glass was displayed in ever shop window, molded into countless shapes and crafts. The skill work was magnificent and unparalleled by anything I had ever seen before. Each glass piece seemed to have a little bit of the history of Venice expertly woven into its very structure. I had to stop and look in the windows of the shops we passed, because everything was so beautiful.

Some time during our walk down the main street, Siberian's large and strong hand touched mine gently, and I looked to my feet, embarrassed for blushing at such a small little touch. His fingers weaved through mine and squeezed my hand tightly, while my eyes strayed up to his face. Siberian was looking straight ahead, the sunlight reflecting off of the river and twinkling in his eyes. Slowly, I squeezed his hand back and we kept walking.

Along the way, we stopped in one of the larger glass shops. There were tiny figures of animals, earrings, bracelets, necklaces, candy figures, and dishes. Bright colors danced across the walls and on the filled shelves, the glass alive with the sunlight shining through the window. Everything looked too delicate to breathe on, and made me feel a bit uneasy. Luckily enough, I didn't need my hands. Siberian was talking in Italian with the shopkeeper; he seemed to be fluent in Italian, stumbling over only a few words, and laughing with the old man behind the counter. In front of me was a glass figure of a rose, in bright green and red. I reached out with my mind's hands and lifted the little figure up to rise in front of my face, my arms still gently at my side, but something had changed. The two other men in the shop had stopped talking and were looking at me. Slightly startled by the sudden silence I looked at them, the glass figure never moving from where I held it. The man behind the counter had his eyes wider than most dinner plates were, and Siberian was looking at me with some wonder I used to think was shock. Then, they both began laughing. Not directly at me but not with me, more about me. My cheeks turned a deeper red than I wanted, because it shouldn't bother me, but having every person I've ever met either glare at me or laugh at me, it bothered me coming from Ken… the brown-haired rival I had adored with every part of my body and mind, inside and out, and I was risking tons just being seen with him, let alone on a date.

Then, he just smiled at me and the man yelled something in Italian that made Siberian nod vigorously, saying, "Si, si Señore." I dumbly stared at him, not understanding what their private joke was. We quickly left after I set the rose back down and we continued walking along the stone path beside the waterway. Chuckling a bit, he said, "I bet you're wondering about in there, huh?"

Simply nodding, I averted my eyes from his gaze. It made me burn when our eyes met; so much so that my heart hurt. Talking with him was all right, but I found his lips much more fulfilling when they were on mine. So, I took to looking at our reflections in the river we were walking so close to. Still in that state of merriment, he chimed out, "We were just talking about little miracles, like the fine craftsmanship of the glass, and then we look over to you and we see you levitating the rose in mid air and he asked if you were my little miracle. So, I said yes."

As he finished talking I felt about twenty things at once, the most were guilt from thinking that he was making fun of me, and an unending appetite for his thoughtful words. I wanted a pill really badly but I didn't want to ruin this moment, so I just put the feeling on hold, and it seemed to go away as we kept exploring the little island and talking, stopping in a deli for a lunch of some small sandwiches. During that lunch we wandered away from the main street to wind through alleyways and reach a small square infested with pigeons that flocked away form us as we sat down on a bench.

There were ancient buildings covered with clotheslines, and even older trees sprouting up from the pavement and towering above us. The sunlight seemed lazier there, much unlike Japan, where it go lost behind the tall office buildings and cell phone-dominated atmosphere. Here was just history, a place frozen in time, which seemed to creep by slowly and gently, like the way Siberian's soft hand strayed from mine to my hip. On that bench, we just sat and ate, but eons of conversation seemed to pass between our silences. Three times I looked over at him to see his eyes fly from where they were watching me, the way a guardian angel would watch a small child; the way no one had watched me before.

Previously I said that the only friends I had were my drugs, but that wasn't exactly true. Schwarz was my family, and my friends. Schwarz was everything I had. Schuldich was my confidant and always used to look out for me, or at least what he knew about. No one could help me with my drug problems; and then there was Siberian, who was as good as a drug, if not better, and kept my urges away. It was such a nice feeling, to be rid of my dependency on those little pills, that I wanted him with me, around me, taking care of me, forever.

We finished lunch rather quickly and kept walking, but something in the back of my mind was worrying me. Something inside my mind. As we reached the waterway I knew what it was: Schuldich was standing beside my reflection in the water, staring at me in shock. He knew. He knew where I was and whom I was with and what I was anticipating and hoping for so much that day. Yet this startled me so much that I slipped on a puddle on the pavement and fell sideways into the water with all of my clothes and makeup on, and I could feel Siberian's hand jerk away from my body. However deep I fell into the water was hard to say because the next moment I felt someone dive in next to grab me by my small shoulders, pushing me up to the surface.

Groping against the slippery seaweed adorned wall to the main street, I gasped desperately for air, partially form nearly drowning (I have no idea how to swim) and mostly from wanting to yell to Schuldich my excuse for being with Siberian, but what good would it do? He would see through it now that he knew, and I felt like stuffing all of those pills into my mouth and just swallowing them all away… swallowing myself away. And what trouble was I getting Siberian into now? I had known this to be a bad idea from the beginning but once again I had proven myself to be that little brat Crawford was always reminding me that I was. Maybe if I hadn't kissed him then this would never have happened…

I felt a wet hand grip my shoulder, squelching water out from my shirt, and I looked back to see Siberian also hanging onto the wall, leaning his head against the edge of the street. He looked winded and shaken, but all right, and his hair stuck to his wet face, covering one eye entirely. Slightly worried, Siberian's warm brown eyes gazed me over, and he asked, "You alright Nagi-chan? I think maybe you should walk on the inside of the street more." Soon, he smiled brightly when I failed to answer, and we climbed out onto the sun-warmed pavement.

Most of the locals and some other tourists had climbed out to look at us, wondering what all the commotion was about and whispering to their friends about what had occurred. An old woman with a very strict maternal face came over and began yelling something in Italian at Siberian, never taking a breath. The way words just flew out of her mouth and how he winced as she scolded him was just as thought she had found his hands in the kitchen cookie jar before dinner. I sat on the ground, squeezing all the water I could out of my jacket and pants. All of my pills were there, but my cigs were ruined, and my lighter was missing.

As the woman continued to reprimand Siberian, a younger and more beautiful woman not much older than I was walked up holding a towel, catching the arm of her mama (as she called her) and saying a few things to her, then turning to Siberian and asking him a few things, which he of course answered as courteously as he could. There was something about the way she stood, with her hips leaned to one side towards him, the way she talked, in the thickest Italian accent I had ever heard, and the way she fluttered her eyelashes at him that made me want to crack her neck. I knew exactly what she was doing and how easy it was for a beautiful woman like her with soft olive skin and thick lush curls to take away Siberian from a dirty little punk like me… So, as she handed him the towel and tugged at his wrist gently, saying a few carefully pronounced sentences while playfully lifting an eyebrow, I stood up and swiftly disappeared down an alleyway about a quarter of a mile until I was thoroughly lost and just leaned against one wall, feeling alone.

It was stupid to give up so easily, but if he could be so easily swayed then I should be able to as well. If Siberian wanted a female Italian virgin then let him… if I wasn't good enough then I wasn't good enough. Never before had I been so incredibly jealous that I had taken it out on myself as the one who deserved the pain, but now I did. So I stood with my forehead and palms and whole body crumbling against the ancient wall as a puddle formed around my feet from my soggy clothes and even soggier disposition. Now don't get me wrong, I wasn't crying, I just felt like a puddle was all. I knew I was being dramatic and stupid, but maybe just everything I had gone through just came out in that small moment of rejection. But even that didn't last for long as I felt another strong hand grip my trembling shoulder.

By now I knew Siberian's touch to the test, and his hand was always warm against my skin. All thoughts seemed to leave my mind as I turned around, with a feeling of triumph that I had won something over someone else (not to mention a gorgeous Italian girl).

"Hey, where'd you go off to?" he asked happily as I leaned back against the wall as I had done the last time we had met. Clearing my throat a bit I looked to the ground and muttered, "Just to see if… if there was any place to get something to dry off with… or something…"

Siberian chuckled a bit and ruffled my wet hair, little droplets spattering everywhere. It was different than how Schuldich or Farfarello did. Schuldich was always too messy when he ruffled my hair and Farfarello was really forceful; but Siberian (I'm always going to think of him as Siberian, I'm sure)… he was tender… so much so that it was more of a caress than a ruffle. Then he said, "You scared me when you fell in so suddenly. Are you always this jumpy?"

Only when I'm shoveling down pills and right next to the person I'm head over heels for. Instead of saying that, however, I blurted out something that my subconscious was screaming at the top of its lungs. "What do you feel around me?"

The brown eyes strained a bit, searching for something in the wall directly above me. I couldn't help but stare at him with unwavering anticipation of what he was going to say, until a minute passed and my eyes hit the ground. If he hadn't spoken up soon I would have had too. "Well," he said, still searching for how to word his next comment. Then a smile returned and I could feel his eyes gazing down at my trembling lips. "It's hard to explain… but the best way to put it would be that I feel lucky, and…nervous" (at this he blushed a little bit but I blushed more) "and I feel… well, I feel alive… and…"

This last comment made me look up, my cheeks burning the droplets of water off. He was looking down at me with another caring look on his face that seemed to warm my veins and under my skin. I was sure that my makeup was blotchy and runny, that my shirt was hanging off my shoulders, and that my shoes were retaining more water that most girls on their menstrual cycle do, but the way his warming and gentle brown eyes looked into my own, I could swear that I felt… wanted. Another blurt came out and I asked hopefully, "Love?"

Siberian bent down so that the sides of our noses caressed each other's, and that his lips ghosted over mine like a shadow of a dream. My whole body quaked from shivers of that feeling of pure ecstasy, though it was not a kiss, but it made my blood pulse ten times quicker through my body. Almost teasingly, Siberian breathed against my trembling lips, which were now trembling with a craving, "Yes, Love."

As the day before, his lips took mine, but today they were hungrier and my longing for him came out through my desperate lip caresses. His hands were gripping the small of my back to his chest, our wet shirts squishing against each other, and his legs pressed against the wall I was leaning on, parting my legs on either side of his. I thought I would melt into his body as I wrapped my arm around his neck, feeling the heat form his skin through my sopping sleeve. With my other hand, I couldn't help but place the very fingertips of my hands on his drop-covered cheek that moved with his mouth, closing my eyes after seeing him close his.

A few moments into the sweet kiss, I could feel his tongue lick against my lips, so I parted my lips like the naïve little virgin I was, with, sadly, no idea what he was doing, and felt his warm powerful tongue penetrate my mouth. Siberian's tongue in my own mouth, our bodies physically joined for the first time as our spit warped together as my own tongue responded; it made me think the most erotic thoughts I had ever thought before throughout my entire life. Passion overtook my mind, which was twisted with drugs and smoke and a gift as a curse, and I pulled him closer to me, my tongue traveling into his mouth and dancing against his. Deep in my soul, I wanted him.

Somehow, our dance slowed and our mouths parted again as we both panted from the heat poured onto our damp bodies. Siberian was looking at me in such a way that my hand instinctively traveled to the back of his neck, curling some of his wet hair about one of my fingers, and I whispered, "Touch me." This was all manifested from some feeling I still don't know all the renditions of that came from deep inside my soul, but that was what I wanted. I wanted him to touch me. On every single part of me I wanted his powerful and calloused hands to glide. My skin was calling out for his lips to travel the curves and dips of my skinny too-girly body.

Soon enough, his lips were against mine again, massaging back and forth against each other and warming the blood passing through to go pumping back to our hearts. One of Siberian's firm hands drifted under my shirt and rubbed my damp back, exploring every contour present, while its brother moved to the clasps of my shirt. Our lips blended and parted to have our tongues rub each other again as Siberian's smooth fingers undid the first fasten on my shirt. My fingertips moved from his gentle cheek to his chest, feeling the stiff muscles through the soaked t-shirt as the second fasten on my shirt was undone. My mind was a blur of every warm color I could think of, his face, and this entire scene, as if I could see it from outside my body. Our tongues returned to our mouths as Siberian began gently and innocently kissing me again, stopping after the fourth button of my shirt. The caress of his legs between my own made my stomach knot in such complicated lumps that it felt as if I had forgotten to take any drugs that day, or how I get when I stop smoking for a while, only this was better. This was delicious.

Schuldich had never told me about this, or Farfarello, or Crawford, but I knew it was in every person's life. Maybe not exactly to the extent I was feeling then, but that need to have someone paying such close and intimate attention to you was coded deep into every living organisms brain, mostly humans. By then, my soul was so shaken if I had loved Siberian any more I think it would've collapsed.

That was when his lips strayed from mine and kissed along my jaw and further, turning down, gently touching my neck. I couldn't stop myself from shuddering under his caress, and a soft, tiny moan came out of my throat and I leaned my head back against the ancient Italian wall. Deep inside my soul I could feel something longing for more of whatever he was doing to me. His soft wet hair sifted through my fingers as he began to suck on the skin at the bottom of my neck, issuing another lungful moan from my throat. Such a warm mouth lustfully sucking my throat, and such luscious feelings appearing in my shivering chest, and such a wonder as the breath from his nose swirling past my dripping hair would've driven a lesser telekinetic mad. Our bodies were so close and warm though we both were soaking wet, and his tongue licked my neck, touching every nerve that was connected to my heart. I panted against his ear, rubbing my legs against the back of his own, and I gripped him to keep from slipping to the ground in ecstasy.

Then I said the one thing I never thought I would've in my entire life in a situation like that. "St-stop," I moaned, biting my lip closed for silence. Then, louder, I said, "Please stop, Siberian… I think Schuldich knows."

He stopped immediately, and so did the feeling of absolute passion dripping from my every appendage. Why did I do it? Because I was worried, for his life and for mine, and making out is still very hard for me when I know something serious is going on. Brown eyes looked into mine very carefully and almost pleadingly. Then they turned dark and serious. "Schuldich knows? How?"

"I saw his reflection in the water," I admitted in shame, looking down where my feet would be if they were on the ground. "That's why I fell in… If he knows he'll tell Crawford and—"

I knew Siberian was talking from the way he was moving his mouth and looking determinedly at me, but it wasn't his voice I heard. From the depths of my mind, ringing in my ears, I heard Schuldich's German-accented smooth voice, and he said, _No Chibi. Just go on. It's been a while since you've been happy, Nagi, and I want you happy. We can talk about it later… but don't worry about it now. And stop staring at him or he'll get self-conscious._ And with that, his voice and presence disappeared completely from my mind. I closed my eyes as Ken finished what he was saying and repeated my name. "Not like this," I said and looked back into his eyes. "Never mind about Schwarz or Weiss or whatever for now… I just don't want it here, in an alleyway… with us soaking wet." What I really wanted was to pop about five pills in and swallow hard.

To my great astonishment, he smiled, and kissed my forehead tenderly. "You're certainly something, Naoe Nagi," he whispered as he held tighter to me in the alley. "You really are."


	8. If You Don't, Don't

Chapter 8: If you don't, don't

Siberian and I parted outside St. Mark's square as soon as we got off of the vaporeta, a bit worried that someone or another might see us. The last thing he said to me was that he would find me again. It made me smile, really smile, that he would promise something like that to a person like me, but I guess that was what I liked about him so much. Then again, as soon as he disappeared into the crowd, I took out my orange prescription bottle and swallowed down six pills. I don't even remember what the pills exactly did to me, but I knew that they numbed me and clamed my nerves, and without them my hands shook like I had had electric jolts running through them.

A nice Venice breeze blew down into the large square, ruffling the pigeons that were prowling around the stones of granite, and chilled me to the bone. I had dried off a little but not enough – and my shoes squelched with every step I took. The only thing really warming me was the memory of that passionate kissing session I had only just had with Siberian. Alone, it could curl my toes to think of all that heat pumping through my blood and around my body. He was so strong and yet incredibly gentle. To think that an assassin could be so gentle… well, I won't go into that, because who would think that I could be so starved for physical contact, ne?

That memory drifted through my mind as I walked through the square, holding my arms as they began to feel fuzzily numb and weightless again. When I was almost to the alley that took me to the hotel, I stopped, feeling someone watching me. I turned around just in time to be grabbed by the arm by Schuldich, who proceeded to pull my along, into, and up the stairs of our hotel. His grip was so tight it hurt, but I didn't say a word to protest and I didn't look in his face: in truth I was ashamed of myself. I knew that he would tell Crawford if he didn't talk to me first, and I was glad Crawford didn't know yet – he hit harder.

Schuldich threw me onto my bed when he opened the door, then slammed it as hard as he could and looked at me. I didn't move; I sat straight up and bent my head down to stare at my wet shoes. In the corner of my mind, I thought he would take out a golf club or something because I had been found fraternizing with the enemy… our enemy… _my_ enemy.

He took a while just staring at me, then his hand flew out and I cringed, expecting it to hit my face… but it didn't. Instead, Schuldich reached into my coat and pulled out my pill bottle. I was shocked, but I knew better than to grab for it, I just stared at him, waiting to be reprimanded like a normal teenage boy would… but we weren't exactly your average family. The only emotion I saw on his face was disappointment… in me.

We didn't talk for a long time; Schuldich stared at the pills and I stared at my wet shoes, feeling the wetness on my pants seeping into my bed sheets. The only real sound came from my German superior turning the pills over and over in his hand. I know I've written before about how Schuldich is the only mother I've ever had – this only proves my point more.

When his voice finally interrupted the quite it was unsteady and forced, almost as if it hurt. "Nagi, where did you get these?"

"Some pharmacy."

I wanted to be as blunt as I could because Schuldich would find out anyways, and beating about the bush wouldn't help. I couldn't tell a lie very convincingly either, especially when I was put under pressure. He sighed heavily, as if he were carrying a large load of rocks. I regretted carrying the pills with me – it was just a bad habit.

"I'm not giving these back to you," he said at long last, raising his eyes to look at me. "But I'm not going to tell Crawford either. If you have any more, I suggest you get rid of them, because if I find any more, I'll make you take all of them at once."

It was a good enough deal, even though I couldn't get rid of them – they were my comfort, but Schuldich wasn't in my head, so I just nodded. I didn't want him to find out about my stash, not because taking all of the pills at once would nearly kill me, but because I know he would blame himself for my problem. He used to be a crack whore and was hooked on heroine, ecstasy, and cocaine. Crawford was the only thing that saved his life, really, and Schu even used to sneak a lane every now and then. Then he just stopped. I'm not sure why, but he did; just cold turkey. I knew as he looked at my pills that he was remembering missing so many meetings and missions because he was out getting high, and remembering what a bad example he had set for me – I had only been twelve then. For some reason, that feeling of letting him down felt heavy on my heart and shoulders, but another thought had popped into my mind. He had seen me with Siberian, hadn't he? Why wasn't he mad about that?

As he turned to leave, I called out, "Schuldich… you saw me on Verano, didn't you?"

He stopped at the door and looked back over his shoulder, still holding the pills. "Chibi, … if he doesn't get in the way of our missions, I don't care. Crawford will, but I don't. Make sure I don't find out about it again… that none of us do."

The door closed when he left, and I was alone. Alone in my room, thinking about what had just happened. I felt terrible about the pills, and even worse about Schuldich, but then again, he didn't care about Siberian. It was like a blessing almost; a revelation. But a sinking feeling still sat in my stomach – I never meant to bother Schuldich so much.

I would've dwelled on it a bit more but my cell phone beeped; I had almost forgotten I had brought it. Really, what was the point of me having it? No one really cared to call me except Crawford, and I didn't want to get his calls most of the time because it would just be him yelling at me. Besides all that, I flipped open my silver phone and looked at the screen, finding my way to my new text message. It was from some odd number and said, Did I get you in trouble?

Even if I could've helped it, I didn't; I knew it was from Siberian and it made me smile. Honestly, truly smile. Jolting my thumbs around the number pad of my cell phone, I typed back Iie.

A few minutes passed until another message came up. Good. I want to see you again.

So many things where swirling around my head. What if it was Crawford that caught me next time, what is Schuldich found my other stash, but I swallowed another pill that I found under my pillow, and typed. Where

Doge's palace? Omi is dragging us there tomorrow

I remembered my German superior mentioning something to Crawford about going there tomorrow as well. If our teams ran into each other again, there was no telling what would happen, but I swallowed again. We were both going to be there anyways… and I had already been missing him by the time I got his second message. There was something I felt around Siberian that I had never felt around anyone else before, or for anyone else. I could only assume it was love, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions before I was absolutely sure.

Hai

It appeared to be the end of the messages until another one popped up on my screen. Give me a kiss it said.

Despite that it was a simple message, I blushed. With bashful fingers I typed in chu goodbye and sent the message, afterwards turning off my cell phone. Many may think that it's weird to get worked up over some text message, but I could only think of the source. Siberian…

For years I have been trying to convince everyone around me that I wasn't a child, that I could handle responsibility and so on… but Siberian made me feel so juvenile and new… even innocent. A far cry from innocent I may as well be, but Siberian erased every killing hanging in my mind, all the blood from my hands. Both of us were murderers, assassins, killers, so I couldn't understand why I still felt innocent around him. I felt that a new piece inside myself was only just surfacing, and I hardly knew it. Confusing, but life mostly is, especially my own.

I really almost couldn't sleep that night, even with all the sleep pills I was taking to prevent jet lag. Memories of the whole summer I had been spending with Siberian were floating soundly through my mind and I could help smiling into my pillow when I imagined seeing him again. What was going to be difficult was being with him and remaining unseen by both Schwarz and Weiss, and keeping them away from one another. They would kill each other… well, that wasn't anything new, but the way I wanted to live, breathe, and speak Siberian was. So something had to change… I was so tired of the fighting.

In truth, I was tired of everything; of the assassin teams, of being a killer, being different, being alone, of my dependency on pills, the cigarette smoke, the coughing that had begun late at night, of myself… of everything about myself. It was stupid, I know, but that night I just lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling so low and worthless. I knew Siberian liked me, and I loved him, even if I wouldn't say it yet, but I feel that he didn't know me… that I was really a huge secret to him, like I was a lie to him. Which was, once again, very idiotic, I know now… but I was still so unhappy back then.

To cut a long story short, I woke up the next morning with long deep cuts in my forearms and wrists. It wasn't unnatural for me, but it was scary. There was a dry puddle of blood on the floor and all over my sheets and pajamas. Honestly, what would you do if you woke up covered in blood? What's worse was that they scarred, but that wasn't what was concerning me. What was concerning me was how I woke up. I saw the blood from my still-open wounds, and then I looked up to see Farfarello staring down at me.

I sat up and wrapped the sheets around my wrists and stared back at him, but his emotion was so hard to read. Usually he liked pissing me off, only did occasional favors for me, but now… he just stared at me like he had never known me before. At first I thought he was such a hypocrite because he cut himself all the time and had poked out his own eye… but then I hung my head over to cover up my eyes… he hurt himself because he couldn't feel pain… and I hurt myself because I could.

"Nagi," he said. I could hardly believe it was him talking by the way he said it; it was so quiet. "Why are you doing this?"

_Not answering_, I thought, looking at the white sheets stained red. My arms had begun to sting, and ache.

Suddenly, Farfarello just walked out, closing the door behind him. I thought he was gone for good and got up, walking into the bathroom and beginning to wash the crusty blood off of my skin. I really hadn't meant to do it, it just happened when I was depressed. What my mind thought happened, no matter how much I didn't want it to. Suddenly I thought of Siberian and what he would've done if he had found me and not Farfarello… he would've held me, pulled me close, and tell me that it was alright, that he wouldn't let anything get me anymore… not in Schwarz.

The door to my bathroom flew open and in the mirror I saw Schuldich looking back at me. My mind screamed, but I couldn't. Schuldich grabbed me and threw me onto the ground, his face all screwed up in a weird expression. Since I fell on the ground on my back, the wind was knocked out of me, and I gasped as Schuldich grabbed me by the arm, hard. He was screaming, shrieking, in German. I didn't know what he was saying, but his eyes were locked on my face, large and bitter. He had lost it. I had made him lose it.

His hands tightened around my forearms, and I began gasping with pain as the blood clots burst and new blood began spilling out. It stung so badly, and the blood began dripping down my skin in crimson ribbons, falling to the ground as he held me up by the forearms. I knew Farfarello was in the room somewhere else, because I could here him yelling Schuldich's name, but Schu wasn't listening. The spit from the way he was yelling hit my face as he began shaking me harder and harder. I let out a shriek as the pain in my arms became unbearable, like his hands were made up of little knives all pressing into my skin at once. All that filled my head was his screaming as I looked desperately for something to stop the pain. Finally I let out another scream and dropped to my knees, tears beginning to fall from my eyes. He didn't stop until I sobbed out, "I-I didn't mean to, anata! Schuldich, I promise I didn't!"

My arms were released and I fell back onto the ground, where I immediately curled up into a protective ball; I had done it every time Crawford had punished me. I couldn't see anything; my arms were pressed to my body and my hands covering my face as I continued to sob and bleed.

"Farfarello," Schuldich said very shakily. "Get out. And not a word to Brad."

Farfarello acted surprised. "But Schuldich-"

"OUT."

Without another word, the Irishman left, closing the door soundly behind him. The sound of his clothes shifting gave Schuldich away, I heard him kneeling down next to me, and I shrunk away, fearing what he would do to me now. It was so much easier to hide things from him when we were back in Japan. I felt a gentle hand on my hair but I still smelled blood… then I thought that maybe he wouldn't hurt me as much anymore.

"Nagi," His voice was still shaking, maybe it was him that was shaking… something sounded wet as I tried to quiet my tears to hear him. "Chibi, you're scaring me. You're scaring my so badly. Please, tell me what I can do to help."

To think that I was scaring him was almost laughable, but I couldn't laugh. He sounded serious and my wrists hurt so badly… just so badly… I couldn't bring myself to look him in the face when I said; "I don't want to be in Schwarz anymore… I-I just don't want to fight anymore… It's doing things to me… Schuldich, I just want to be normal."

Something wet hit my head and I heard him whisper, "Chibi, I wish I could let you… but we can't. If you left, you'd be killed… we can't be normal."

I let out another big sob and curled up tighter. "I just want to be loved, Schu… and I don't want to have to fight him anymore…" It had been so calming, so peaceful with Siberian the day before on the little island, in the alley, in his arms. I just wanted that again, and always, and I knew I couldn't have it and that something was going to happen to just rip us apart… what if it was my fault?

"Oh god Chibi," Schuldich choked out. He was crying. I looked up into his face and saw a tear running down his cheek. Those eyes had always been so fun loving, so seductive, so playfully manipulative, but now they were broken, and staring down at me with some amount of guilt trying to be suppressed. "I wish you could know how much I love you. You're one of the most important people in my life, I feel that it's my job to watch over you. Nagi, just… you are who I was."

Shock must've been printed all over my face. How could Schuldich have once been like me?

"I fell in love when I was fifteen, Chibi. I was addicted to more drugs than you are, and I felt so horrible… I am so worried about you because what I went through, I don't want that to happen to you."

"Who did you fall in love with?"

A very faint smile came over Schuldich's face as he wiped his eyes and touched my cheek. "Brad Crawford."

Finally, I had found some footing with Schuldich. Our "relationship" had been such a mystery to me for as long as I could've remembered at that point, and it had finally been settled. He bandaged my wrists and helped me clean the blood out and I didn't say anything more about the drugs in my bag of the cigarettes in my jacket, and we had become closer somehow… Though I often wonder just what he had been yelling at me… just out of curiosity. Then we joined Farfarello and Crawford, and I was wearing long sleeves again, and pretending the way I always did that everything was fine. Only now, I knew that Schuldich was pretending too, for my sake.


End file.
